


Resolute

by NeverJustBusiness, pockettreatpete



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Happy Sex, It's just disgusting how happy they are, M/M, Pete is turned on by good logistics, They're in the White House and they're so in love?, Yes the Resolute Desk deserves a Character Tag of its own, otp: wait that's my word, two hot nerds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 20:57:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20748641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverJustBusiness/pseuds/NeverJustBusiness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pockettreatpete/pseuds/pockettreatpete
Summary: Who is left to tell them 'no'?





	Resolute

**Author's Note:**

> Friends who write porn together stay together... or something? Anway. Enjoy!

“This is crazy, we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“You’re the president, Peter, you can do whatever you want.”

“That is a truth with serious modi––“

Peter is cut off by Chasten’s lips against his, and then his back is against the hallway wall. He has no idea what has gotten into his husband tonight, but he can’t help but go along for the ride. He never could with Chasten. 

He’s been busy all day, working from early, early in the morning and straight through dinner, and just came up to the Residence a few minutes ago, where Chasten met him with a drink and a scheming smile. Peter nearly spit whiskey all over the floor when his husband told him what he had planned for the evening. “We can’t,” he said. “Yes, we can,” Chasten replied and took his hand, and now they’re making out against the wall outside the Lincoln bedroom.

He fleetingly worries about the Secret Service agents, but fuck it, it’s not like they don’t know the first couple is gay. Chasten breaks the kiss and takes his hand, pulling him into a light jog again. Jesus, they’re really doing this, and the thought makes Peter _so_ hard. 

“Look at this place, Peter,” Chasten says, stopping as they cross the Entrance Hall. “These halls where Reagan and Nixon and Bush and every one of those people that didn’t want us to be happy once walked... And you’re here. With me. And who’s left to tell us ‘no’?”

He swallows, suddenly emotional. Who, indeed?

“Besides,” Chasten says, as they keep moving. “JFK _definitely_ fucked someone over the Resolute desk. A hundred percent.”

Peter laughs from deep in his gut and follows Chasten, pulled along but always willing to follow. 

He voices a last piece of concern as they rush along the portico in the biting January cold. 

“We’ve gotta be quick.” 

Chasten laughs. “We will be. Zip in, fuck me on the desk, zip out.”

“Are you insane? We can’t do the whole––”

Chasten turns his head and beams in that way of his that sets every inch of Peter on fire, confirming every single filthy thought. 

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

The idea that this whole thing turns Chasten on so much, that Chasten has prepared for this while waiting for Peter in the Residence. The thought of Chasten in the new bedroom of theirs, playing with himself, lubing up and spreading himself open with his fingers, hell, maybe he even used a toy, is just— Peter doesn’t have words for that. He wants his husband so much it physically hurts. 

He’s barely sworn in and he’s happy with his choice for vice president, which is good because he may actually die from this. At least he’ll die happy.

He stops in the doorway, watching Chasten walk further into the room. It’s just been a day and he hasn’t gotten used to the force of the office yet (and doesn’t know if he ever will), but it’s less terrifying with the lights off, everything cloaked in shadows.

Chasten pushes the heavy leather rolling chair away and perches on the edge of the desk, smiling beatifically.

“Over here, Mr. President.”

That shouldn’t be a turn-on. It’s _wrong_ on so _so_ many levels, but that only makes everything hit that much harder. He stalks to the desk and pins Chasten to it, pushing his husband back against the ancient timbers. He could recite the whole history of its wood, the ship and the marks in the grand piece of furniture, usually, but right now all he cares about is how Chasten moans when he pushes just a little harder. They kiss, dirty and desperate, then Chasten’s hands are on his belt, working his pants open, and he returns the favor. 

They very much shouldn’t be doing this, but Jesus, he can’t turn Chasten down, never could, and it’s so hot, he can’t fucking think he’s so hard. Luckily Chasten still has his wits about him and produces a pair of condoms.

“We can’t make a mess of this place on the second day, can we,” he says with a little smile and hands Peter one. 

Peter nearly rips the whole thing in half with how hard he tears the package open. Chasten just laughs, kisses him and helps him, their lips together more often than apart until they’re both covered. 

If he thought he was going to die before, it's _nothing_ compared to how God is calling him home when Chasten sits down and leans back, draws his feet up and apart, and sets his heels on the edge of the desk. He’s going to die. This is going to kill him… but he’ll be damned if he dies before, not after. 

He knows the second he pushes inside, as slowly as he really can be expected to under these circumstances, that he’s not going to last long, because every nerve ending in his body is on fire, and his husband is groaning under him. 

“Yeah, Peter, do it,” Chasten says, working himself roughly. 

He holds on to Chasten’s hips and draws back slowly, carefully, before pushing in again, earning another deep groan of appreciation. 

“Gotta go faster, babe,” Chasten gasps, “I’m… fuck, I’m kind of there.” 

That’s hotter than anything else he’s said, knowing his husband is right there on the edge _already_, and Peter closes his eyes and throws his all into Chasten, again and again. It’s going to be over way too soon, but they’re there, in the Oval fucking office, and he is _fucking his husband on the Resolute desk_ and it’s so messed up and hot and ridiculous that he kind of wants to laugh, but also he’s gonna come. Oh. Oh, he’s definitely gonna come. 

Chasten comes with a muffled shout, tightening around Peter and that’s all it takes. He’s tumbling right over that edge, seeing stars and blacking out from the force of his orgasm. 

It takes him a few minutes to see straight again and catch his breath, then he pulls out slowly, letting Chasten get up. Chasten, bless him, has tissues and a little trash bag in his pants, and Peter marvels again at his husband’s sheer _logistical talent_. 

“So,” Chasten says when they’re both cleaned up and tucked away again, “worth it?” 

His grin is Cheshire-like, and Peter can’t help but smile in return. 

“Definitely worth it.” 

Chasten takes his hand again and leads him out the door. 

“We’re doing that again.” 

“No, we’re not,” Peter says with a disbelieving chuckle as they pass through the darkened outer office. Chasten laughs.

“We’ll see about that, Mr. President.”


End file.
